


Momther Knows Best

by knightcap



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: soft!squip au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 23:48:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11474202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightcap/pseuds/knightcap
Summary: The SQUIP thing takes some getting used to. Especially because it sort of reminds him of a talking self-help book. [Based off sinisterspook's soft squip au.]





	Momther Knows Best

**Author's Note:**

> heads up for a running mention of troubled eating / scheduled food? i feel like i should toss that up here

_Jeremy. It’s time to eat._

Jeremy groaned. Too early. Five more minutes.

_You’ve already missed your usual breakfast. It’s time to start the day._

If there was like, an audio equivalent of someone nudging your shoulder, this would be it. A little nice, mostly annoying, and definitely not enough to do anything more than make Jeremy aware of the world. It was still on him to decide to burrow into the couch further or leave his blanket cocoon. There was no commentary, thankfully, on the relatively gross and sweaty state of both him and the blankets. It felt nice to fall asleep bundled up, but less to wake up with the consequences.

Now he was just thinking about how gross his skin felt.

He got up, and he could feel a pride that wasn’t his own warming up his ears. There were still weird side effects like that. It was still weird that the Squip preferred ‘Dadmom’ or ‘Momdad’ over their product label ( _How would you like to be called ‘teenage boy_ ’?) and it was definitely, definitely still weird to wake up to someone gently reminding him to wash his face and drink a glass of water with breakfast.

But it was better than his usual startling alarm. Jeremy stepped around last night’s clutter. Sleepovers always meant Michael’s basement room was carpeted with debris: a bowl left empty but for a handful of kernels, a half-empty liter bottle on its side, a tangle of wires and cords. Michael’s headphones. Glasses. Michael. It is exactly twelve p.m., the Squip answered before Jeremy could ask. They had slept in.

Nobody would mind this. Michael lived in disarray and his parents kept out of the space for the most part, and they certainly didn’t mind Jeremy’s near constant presence. He still felt like an invader anyways, especially when it was so quiet and the stairs were creaking under his feet. It seemed to be the cue for his nerves to start up. Those didn’t need a soft wake up call. They just were. His heart was pounding by the time he reached the bathroom, and he kept shivering even though it was humid and he was hot, and even the air seemed to be pressing down on him. The bathroom seemed very small, and smelled of mildew. Mold. Spores, Jeremy thought, opening the cabinet for his spare toothbrush. Typical.

Mildew, and coffee. Jeremy wrinkled his nose at them both. Who was brewing at noon? That’s just what he needed. The last time Michael’s mom offered him a cup he’d said yes out of anxiety-driven impulse and spend the rest of the afternoon on the verge of hyperventilating. Not so unlike now, actually. Oh, jeez.

The squip was silent.

Help, Jeremy thought.

He didn’t want to freak out right now. There was nothing to panic over. It was just the stairs, and a smell. There was nothing wrong.

( _Good_ , he heard a voice say on the edge of his brain. Like they were encouraging this train of thought.)

There was nothing wrong, stupid piece of-

 _Self-deprecation does not help you calm down,_ the Squip noted _,_ no longer distant _. There is nothing wrong. You have also done nothing wrong. What you feel is valid even if logically irrational._

It was easier to listen to them lecturing than to try and disagree, and with unsteady hands Jeremy reached up and felt around for the toothpaste in the cabinet. He didn’t feel ready to confront his reflection in the mirror behind the medicine, but the feeling of a fresh mouth always made him feel safer. Cleaner. Better. It was-

_It is not stupid._

Jeremy huffed out a mixed bag of a sigh, and brushed his goddamn teeth, the Squip soothing all the while. They had moved onto counting a slow and steady rhythm for Jeremy to breathe to, and he almost couldn’t help falling in time with it. In, out.

The air in his chest was still buzzing, but his hands had stopped shaking, and he thought he could stomach actually eating breakfast-lunch. The most important meal of the day, even if late because you took a day off from your Dadmom’s plan for fixing your disastrous lack of a sleep schedule.

He made a sandwich, and then another, and drank a whole glass of water instead of soda, and he swore he could feel them smiling. 

**Author's Note:**

> [kickflips my cool gay skateboard] what has two thumbs and spent over an hour crying over softie this week 
> 
> (this guy)


End file.
